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Val woke before Marat, just as the very corners of the mountains began to light up, shedding themselves of the night.

She slipped out of the one-room cottage without making any noise, only wrapping a wool shawl around her nightshirt. She took the journal with her, hugging it close to her body as she tried to keep the shawl from slipping from her shoulders.

The absolute stillness of the town, its colors - just waking up from the darkness, the only now beginning sounds of roosters calling out that it was morning, it had all filled her with so much longing and gladness, the way that being in the Midtrade City did not.

So much here reminded her of home, although grander and more heavily populated. She did not see the same stone stoves inside the homes, yet thin lines of smoke rose from nearly every house after the chilly night. Somewhere, a sheep’s bleat, and then another’s joining in, chorused across the hills.

Val sat on a piece of cut wood laid out and meant to make a bench. It was damp from the morning mist, but she had not minded. She opened the journal.

In its limited pages, she had found so many descriptions, rules, observations, and notations. Not all of them made sense, and not all of them were neatly organized. She could tell how meticulous Erlan had been in his documentation, and the pages that Marat had written were messy and chaotic. She could not even read a good chunk of it. Erlan would approach it scientifically, listing herbs the creatures could not tolerate, their characteristics, weaknesses and strengths, best baits, best times of the day or night to find them, and the dates of the encounters. Marat’s entries read essentially how she would expect.

Kikimora: tried to latch on to Erlan –stomped to death.

Chort: Deep wood, four arms. Erlan said he saw five but he lies.

Chort: Five arms.

Chort: Looks too much like a spider, used as a wardwright to keep away other chorts and hopefully spiders.

Bannik: Moved in, likes lavender and birch. Made water boil too hot and scolded a stablehand. Stomped to death.

There were a few there she did not care to ever encounter, but also a few that she hoped she would. There was an entry on the silver stag, but the entry only had breakdowns of how much their skins sold for based on the weight of the buck.

“Bad time?”

She was startled, but the voice was Marat’s, and it had felt like a warm embrace in a foreign land. She patted the space next to her. He had come out in linen clothes, the travel leather and wool put away. He’d been barefoot.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” She said, turning her head away to the view of the rolling hills and vineyards leading to the pine forest. “Being here? I barely knew this place existed just days ago.”

He looked where she had, at the tranquil landscape.

“No one had spoken to you about it?”

“No,” she shook her head, a bit surprised that it was the question he would ask, “why would they?”

“I thought, maybe your mother. Or your father.” She could hear in his voice that he was treading carefully, and she wondered why.

“They had not. They did not speak much of what was outside our village.” She confessed, fidgeting with the journal cover still in her hands. “My father traveled a lot. But, he was not a man of many words.”

“Hm.”

She smiled at the irony of it. They say a girl looks for her father’s face in the actions of her suitors. Perhaps this was the only trait that she had managed to find.

“And your mother?” He asked, bringing her back.

“She…” Val drifted off, her face seeming like she had struggled through to a realization. “...had been brought from a far off land…”

Marat leaned back, performing poorly as a man who was astounded.

Val stood as if in a rush.

“Gods, but…” She stuttered. “You don’t think??”

“I thought you knew.”

“Knew?” She spun to face him. “I have heard the name of this place a handful of times; how would I know?”

“Chelkalka is the only region that produces women with green eyes.” He shrugged.

“And how would I know that??” She looked around frantically as if seeing everything in a brand new light. “She was from here?”

He stood, grabbing her trembling hands.

“Val, focus. We are here now. How old was she when she left?”

She did not hear him.

“We will look for anyone who may have known her.” He assured her. “Give it time.”

“Marat.” She sat down hard beside him. “This is the closest to my mother that I had been for more than a third of my life. This is the closest that I may ever be to her again.”

They sat, him stroking her hair absentmindedly, her resting it against his shoulder, the silence of the morning weighing hard against her rushing thoughts.

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Nadia had come to get them, and they followed her up the winding road. When they stopped in front of a home, she would not walk up the stoop. She gave Marat a dissatisfied look and walked off briskly as the door opened with a creak, and the smell of dried bay leaves and pine rolled out toward them.

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Marat led the way inside, ducking underneath the all-too-low doorway. Through the mudroom was a well-lit, sunny room. It was furnished with a table, bench, and storage shelves full of what could have been cooking ingredients or medicine - it was hard to tell because of the various vessels they had been stored in. Something about the place smelled so distinct - earthy, like wood sap, with a mix of alcohol and mothballs.

Avgusta sat hunched in a chair at the table.

“Come in!” She exclaimed warmly. “I would stand up, but the chilled night has caused an ache in my bones, and I cannot.”

“Please, Grandmother, sit.” Marat bowed to her, which made a toothless smile spread across the old woman’s face. She grabbed Marat’s arm as he approached to pull out a chair.

“My! But how tall, how handsome you are!” Her words were sweet as if he had been her own grandson. His face reddened visibly, and Val suppressed a grin. “Had I known the treasures of the East were such as these, I might not have grown old here.”

“You are too kind.” He smiled at her politely, but Val could tell he took the compliment to heart.

The old woman’s eyes rested on Val.

“Valeria. How did you sleep, my dear?”

“Well, Grandmother.” She nodded in thanks. “It was so kind of you to let us stay here.”

A woman came into the room carrying hot tea. It was aromatic and pungent, carrying the distinct smell of bergamot. She left without making eye contact or ever addressing their guests.

Avgusta waited until she was gone to proceed.

“Now then. Has Nadia told you the terms of our agreement?” The old woman asked, stirring her tea with a wooden rod with a sugar cube crystallized around it - melting into the hot water.

“She has told us many rules,” Val confirmed.

“Good then!” Avgusta smiled again, and it lingered on her face still when she turned to Marat. “And you know what is to come if you are ever found to be hunting?”

“I was told I cannot, but not of the consequence. I accept the terms regardless.”

Avgusta shook her head no.

“I do not think you understand, young man. The penalty for hunting within the limits of the River Cities is imprisonment or death.” She said, her tone unchanged from when she had first greeted them. “Depending on what it is you’ve hunted.”

Marat had visibly been taken aback. Such a punishment was not only severe - but it was for a crime that had constituted a great public service in all other places.

“I understand, Grandmother.” He said slowly.

“Good.” She nodded, again turning to the girl and seemingly having a different thought apart from rules and regulations. “Valeria. My daughter. You do not know where you come from, so why are you here?”

Val and Marat exchanged quick looks, keeping in mind the morning’s conversation.

“I think, Grandmother, my mother may have lived here before marrying my father.” She said bluntly. “She looked as I do, as Nadia does. As the women I have seen in the fields and streets.”

The old woman nodded as if that was the exact answer she had expected.

“Hm.” She said. “But why are you here?”

The question gave Val pause as she imagined that she had already answered - both the night before and just now.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Val said slowly, knowing it to be the truth.

“Many wander without such a place, more so now than ever.” The old woman said.

It was as if the truth of her situation and very being had gotten heavier and heavier on Val as the questions proceeded. It was almost as if Avgusta had led her toward spilling everything about her entire life - having yet shared so little.

There was a tension that came with the old woman’s kind eyes looking directly at her - as if peering into the depths of her soul and holding it by the hand gently, guiding the truth to the surface - nurturing it into being –into being spoken aloud.

“I’m pregnant,” Val said suddenly.

The shock on Marat’s face was very genuine. But she was not done.

“And it could be a god.”

Marat’s face had gone entirely pale, his eyes fixed on Val.

“And how is it that you came by knowing it could be a god?” The old woman asked, unphased by the confession.

“A Hag, she learned my name and bound it - imprisoning me in the Deep Wood,” Val spoke freely, to Marat’s horror. “She’d let it slip right before I ran away.”

Val paused, then turned to Marat apologetically.

“...Right before I was rescued, I should say.”

The old woman nodded as if Val had just told her it was raining outside.

“There is great power in a name. How do you know she did not lie?” Avgusta continued.

“I…” Val thought about it, “I do not…”

“Yet you believe it with all your heart?” she insisted.

“Everyone else has seemed to, so, yes.”

“Hm.” The old woman seemed satisfied. She turned to Marat next.

“Is this your child?”

“I think so.”

Val’s heart jumped; the words that had not been spoken, the question never asked… her lips parted in trying to say anything at all, but she could not find the words.

“How do you know?” Avgusta continued.

“I don’t,” Marat said.

“And what were you planning on doing with a god?” The old woman stirred her tea again. Marat looked as if he was truly deep in thought and took another sip of his.

“Love him. Protect him. Teach him to hunt, like my father taught me.” He answered.

A chill passed through them both. The words were spilling out, and neither was able to stop themselves. Deepest thoughts, secrets, desires, they all came rushing out.

“Hm.” The corners of the old woman’s mouth twitched again in a smile. “Did you not consider that you may not live to see its birth? Many forces in this world awake when a Golden bears a god.”

“I was blinded and remain blinded still, Grandmother,” Marat said, dropping his eyes. “If it means to look away from her, I do not wish to see.”

“The willing blind,” Avgusta said, shaking her head. She turned back to Val. “And what shall you name it if it is a boy?”

The question truly gave Val pause.

Only once she had allowed herself to think of it - and, just as then, the answer was the same.

“I would not name him, Grandmother.” She said, “So that he could.”

She looked at Marat. He was already staring at her. The look on his face was that of a man who had nothing and was suddenly given everything in the world.

“Good,” Avgusta said, pushing the undrunk tea away from herself.

Marat looked down at the remnants in his own cup, barely a drop left - he and Val both drank theirs.

He frantically recited the plants and herbs he knew to grow in this region.

Horse chestnut, weeping fig. Flossflower - common chickery - alfalfa - coriander - sumac - horsetail - rosehip - yarrow - barley - wormwood - valerian root….

He dropped his palms on the table, his eyes on the cup.

Veriticus Botanicus. Truth Creeper. The honest herb.

“Now, you can stay.”

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